


Come Up and Look at My Etchings

by sabinelagrande



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Weird Porn, Consent Play, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 07:58:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19866169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: "The Temptation of Saint Carmilla," Aziraphale says, sighing happily.





	Come Up and Look at My Etchings

**Author's Note:**

> Content note: It's clear throughout the story that this is a consensual scene, but some of the dialogue could be triggering. Be warned in time.

There's a lot of light in the shop, considering how many fragile books are in it. Aziraphale has explained to Crowley that this balance is not miraculous, that being a huge amount of upkeep; instead it's a function of an expensive-sounding film he has put over the windows and something about light fixtures. Crowley nodded appropriately, since it sounded like Aziraphale really cared about it, then dozed off in this one spot that was perfect for basking in the afternoons.

That was some time ago, but Crowley is once again dozing in that spot; if you got very close, you could hear faint, contented hissing noises. He rouses when the door opens, but it's just Aziraphale, looking rushed but very, very pleased.

"Hi, angel," Crowley says, getting to his feet and going over to kiss Aziraphale on the cheek, a gesture that Aziraphale might not even notice, too focused on the brown parcel in his arms. "What've you got?"

"I have waited decades to get this book," Aziraphale says, placing it gently on his desk and unwrapping it immediately. "There were only six ever made, and only three of them were fully painted, each by hand."

"Oh, good," Crowley says supportively, because the whole thing is lost on him. "What book is it?"

" _The Temptation of Saint Carmilla_ ," Aziraphale says, sighing happily.

"Didn't think there was a Saint Carmilla," Crowley says, standing behind Aziraphale and looking over his shoulder.

"A good thing she doesn't exist, I suspect," Aziraphale says, delicately opening the leather cover. "For a saint, this is a book of pure character assassination." He tuts at the piece of tissue paper protecting the front page. "Oh, I do hope this is archival. I shall have to see to all of it, just in case."

Aziraphale turns pages gingerly, finally coming to the first illustration. "That is, of course, Saint Carmilla," he says, indicating the woman in the center of the page. Carmilla, rendered in art nouveau style, is sitting on some rocks by a river; Crowley knows it's Art because she has one tit out.

"Who's in the back there?" Crowley asks.

"That will be her temptation," Aziraphale says, turning the page. "Yes, you can see him clearly now. A demonic interloper, of course."

"Oh, of course," Crowley says. It doesn't escape his notice that Carmilla's other tit is now out; this suggests it's not quite as classy as previously believed.

"Since when do you stock porn?" Crowley asks, as Aziraphale turns the page and Saint Carmilla's flimsy shift ends up in the demon's claws. They've gone for a more humanesque demon, rather than a scaly red number, and Crowley wonders if this was inspired by one of his former cohorts. Then again, he finds that most demonically inspired porn is just not very sexy, and certainly not as finely crafted as this.

"Oh, hush," Aziraphale says. "I simply happen to have some books with tasteful depictions of human sexuality."

"This is tasteful, is it?" Crowley says, because on the next page, Carmilla is only wearing scraps and the demon looks ready for business.

"You and I both know this sort of thing gets much worse," Aziraphale says. "Greta Podra was particularly sensitive to the human form and expresses it brilliantly in her illustrations." He indicates the page without touching it. "See the bold use of color and the curvilinear forms, the horror vacui, the restraint with which she uses gold accents." He sighs. "She was truly ahead of her time."

Aziraphale turns another page, and it clicks for Crowley. "This is demon-on-angel porn," Crowley says accusingly.

"It's hardly that," Aziraphale says. "Carmilla is a saint, not an angel."

Crowley reaches over, pointing out the wide white wings Carmilla has sprouted.

"Semantics," Aziraphale says, turning another page, and both of them stop and stare. "My goodness."

"That's not possible," Crowley says.

"I think it might just be highly improbable," Aziraphale says, "but it certainly doesn't look pleasurable." He turns another page. "Now, see, that's better."

Crowley rests his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder. "So that's how you like it, then?"

"It's just visually interesting," Aziraphale says, even though they both know that Crowley is already very clear on how Aziraphale likes it.

On the page, Carmilla is in quite the bad way; the demon has her in his lap, facing out so that the place where they join is on full display. She has her head thrown back, in a pose that speaks of both sexual pleasure and religious ecstasy. The artwork really is stunning, though the fine detail and delicate lines are not the most compelling things on the page.

Crowley is close enough to Aziraphale to hear how his breathing has quickened; Crowley sometimes forgets to breathe at all, but it's something Aziraphale has learned over the millennia. He's even picked up the human trait of breathing heavily when he's aroused, which Crowley has come to enjoy exploiting. 

"You're getting off on this," Crowley says, settling his hands on Aziraphale's hips.

"No, you're getting off on it, and you're projecting onto me," Aziraphale says primly, and it's very nearly convincing; the breathing undoes him again.

"A baseless accusation," Crowley says, and Aziraphale makes no move to stop him as he undoes Aziraphale's fly, pushing his clothing down. He slides his hand between Aziraphale's thighs, finding him warm and wet.

"Just like poor, doomed Saint Carmilla," Crowley says, his fingers glancing over Aziraphale's clit.

"Oh, please don't," Aziraphale breathes; they've been at this long enough for Crowley to know when it's for show, when Aziraphale wants it rough. Sometimes he likes to play like he hasn't got a choice, like Crowley really is a big bad demon who wants to do nothing more than corrupt a sweet little angel.

It should feel like playing with fire, and sometimes it does. But something about it makes Crowley feel free, in a way he can't quite express. He feels something else entirely about how comfortable he and Aziraphale have become, where they don't even need to talk to understand each other, but that's a separate issue, something deeper, warmer.

"Stop," Aziraphale says shakily, as Crowley presses against him with more force, rubbing him with two fingers.

Crowley chuckles. "No."

"Get away from me, you filthy demon," Aziraphale says, making no move to extract himself, his hips working against Crowley's hand.

Crowley licks a stripe up the side of Aziraphale's neck. "Oh, I'll show you filthy."

He really wants to fuck Aziraphale right over the book, make him stare at the ill-fated saint and her victorious tempter, but the idea of Aziraphale's face if the least thing happens to it is too much to handle. He grabs Aziraphale's coat instead, using his grip to turn him and shove him face-first against the nearest wall. He grinds against Aziraphale's ass, hissing at the friction.

"I can't," Aziraphale pants. "It's too big. You'll hurt me."

That's just plain untrue; Aziraphale has never had the least bit of trouble taking everything Crowley throws at him, and it's not unlike him to ask for more. Crowley sees it for the cue it is and makes things just a little bigger.

"You'll be begging me for it eventually," Crowley says. "I won't hurt you unless you make me do it." He bites down on the back of Aziraphale's neck, and Aziraphale gasps. "Now get naked, or I'm going to tear these clothes off you." He leans in close. "With my _teeth_."

Aziraphale carefully strips off his coat; Crowley has to lean back a little, but he manages to keep his hand firmly in Aziraphale's trousers. It's worth the inconvenience of the position to watch Aziraphale being revealed little by little, first the coat, then the waistcoat, then the shirt, each of them hitting the floor with a soft thud.

"That's it," Crowley says, his fingers dipping into Aziraphale's entrance. "Show me how much you want this."

"I don't want this at all," Aziraphale says, pushing his trousers and briefs down; at some point he's miracled away his shoes, and the rest of his clothing hits the floor, kicked away with an uncharacteristic lack of care.

Crowley pulls Aziraphale back against him, enjoying the feeling of his clothing whispering against Aziraphale's smooth, bare skin. "You do want it," Crowley purrs, and Aziraphale cries out as Crowley pushes three fingers into him, not even pretending to be gentle about it. "Do me a miracle if you want out of it so badly. Show me all that heavenly power." He puts his hand between Aziraphale's shoulder blades and shoves, and Aziraphale catches himself on his hands, braced and ready. "Otherwise, shut up and take it."

Crowley lines them up, biting his lip as he pushes into Aziraphale; he's so soft and wet, and Crowley doesn't stop until he's all the way inside. Aziraphale throws his head back, and Crowley grabs him by the hair, keeping him like that as he starts to thrust. Aziraphale looks stunning like this, but he feels even better, tight around Crowley's cock.

"Does that feel good, angel?" Crowley says, fucking into him hard, giving no quarter; Aziraphale will fall out of the fantasy if Crowley doesn't do it hard enough, start backseat driving, and that's not what Crowley wants.

"I'll give you anything to let me go," Aziraphale says. 

"I have everything I want," Crowley says, his free hand coming down to toy with Aziraphale's clit. "I think you do, too. You want this so much that you can't even admit it."

Aziraphale thrashes his head, hard enough that Crowley loses his grip. "Please, it's too much, it hurts-"

"You don't really think that," Crowley says. "You'd take more if you could. I know your kind. You act so polite and buttoned up, but all you really want is someone to make you a whore."

"That's a lie," Aziraphale says. "You're a horrid deceiver."

"Me?" Crowley says with a laugh. "You've been lying this whole time. Your mouth keeps saying you don't want it, but your body is begging to be used. I'm just the lucky one to take advantage of it." Aziraphale makes the most delicious noise as Crowley snaps his hips forward, as deep as he can go. "All you needed was the right demon to come along and take you, just how you wanted."

Aziraphale sucks in a ragged breath, and Crowley feels it as he comes, his body squeezing Crowley's cock. Crowley laughs, poisonous and joyful at the same time. "How sweet," Crowley says. "I didn't know you liked being used so much." He bites Aziraphale's earlobe. "We're going to have a lot of fun together."

"Let me go," Aziraphale pants. "Oh, please, just let me go."

"Now, is that any way to treat someone who just made you come?" Crowley says. "It hardly seems fair to make me go without when I have been so kind."

"You wretched demon," Aziraphale says. "Your type don't know how to be kind."

"You're so lucky, little angel," Crowley says. "I happen to be exactly the kind of demon you want to get captured by. You'll have a nice life serving me, on your knees by my side so you're ready for me to fuck whenever I want."

"I'll never serve you," Aziraphale says, pushing back against Crowley, and Crowley starts moving faster; break time is over.

"You will," Crowley says, grabbing Aziraphale by the hips so that he can drive into him hard, fucking him quickly now. "You'll be begging me for more, and I'm going to give it to you."

"No, please," Aziraphale says, letting his head hang as Crowley fucks him deep and rough. "Please don't use me like that."

"You say that now," Crowley says. "You won't last. You'll be so overwhelmed that you'll beg for my cock, however you can get it."

"And what if I say yes?" Aziraphale says, throwing Crowley for a loop.

"Pardon?" Crowley says.

"What if I do give myself to you?" Aziraphale says. "If I let you have me, so I can be your-" He swallows. "Plaything."

"Oh, angel," Crowley says, not ready for it, struck by how hot the image is. "I'll show you delights that Heaven never even dreamed of." He moves faster. "You'll look so good at my side, my toy."

"You'd keep me safe if I let you have my body?" Aziraphale says, meeting Crowley as he thrusts.

"Always," Crowley says; he's rapidly nearing the edge, and he doesn't know if he's going to be able to stop. "Just give yourself to me, and you'll never want for the rest of eternity."

"You promise?" Aziraphale says, his breath coming fast again, like he's getting as close as Crowley is. "If I just do what you say, you'll be my protector?"

"Yesss," Crowley says, with just a touch of a hiss. "Let me take you, and you'll be mine forever, my own sweet angel."

Aziraphale moans. "Take me," he says. "I'm yours."

Crowley comes with a shout, thrusting erratically, but Aziraphale is right behind him, tipping over for the second time as Crowley spills into him. Crowley can't even imagine letting him go, holding Aziraphale to him tightly, like he'll be lost if he ever gives up his grip. It's too much, so good, touching something in the core of him that makes him shiver. Aziraphale turns his head, kissing Crowley gently as they both try to recover.

Some time later, they end up on the floor. Aziraphale is sitting against the wall, and Crowley is lying with his head in Aziraphale's lap, Aziraphale's fingers running through his hair. "That was magnificent, my dear," Aziraphale says.

"The bit at the end was," Crowley says, and he brings his hand up, kissing his fingertips with a smack.

"It just came to me," Aziraphale says, sounding pleased. "What's the point of playing at temptation if you don't give in a little?"

The realization hits Crowley suddenly. " _You_ inspired the book," he says. "That's why you were so keen on getting it."

"Don't be ridiculous," Aziraphale says unconvincingly. 

"You did!" Crowley says, delighted. "Couldn't bring yourself to corrupt a real saint, could you, had to make up your own."

Aziraphale sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping. "Podra was already doing very fine art of this type. I merely arranged for this book to be produced and made a few gentle suggestions concerning the subject matter, as any patron would. Then I had a falling out with the bookbinder and never received my copy."

"Hang on," Crowley says, thinking of when art nouveau was still nouveau. "This was before we ever slept together."

"Yes, well, ah," Aziraphale says, blushing. "I perhaps had some ideas on the subject already."

"I love how dirty you are, angel," Crowley says with a grin. "Commissioning pornography about your enemy crush, just imagine."

"It wasn't strictly about you," Aziraphale says. "He doesn't even have red hair."

"What a rousing defense," Crowley says dryly.

"Oh, be quiet, you," Aziraphale says, though he's smiling. "If you're not good, I'm not going to show you the rest of the book."

Crowley gives him a look. "That was just the beginning?"

"Oh yes," Aziraphale says. "I believe the order was for fifty pages."

Crowley shuts his eyes, moaning. "The stamina required doesn't bear thinking about."

Aziraphale tugs on his hair lightly. "Saint Carmilla does get the upper hand once or twice."

"Can't wait to see how that works out," Crowley says.

"If it's anything like I asked for, extremely well for Carmilla and the demon both," Aziraphale says.

"I love you, angel," Crowley sighs.

"Why did that sound more like, 'Aziraphale, you are ridiculous'?" Aziraphale says.

"Couldn't imagine," Crowley says, smiling, as Aziraphale kisses his forehead.


End file.
